


Your Typical Prototype

by mortaltemples



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Backstory, Gen, POV Female Character, female character backstory, passing mention of abuse (oc), passing mention of rape (oc), the Compassionate Weirdo Squad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 16:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11338779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortaltemples/pseuds/mortaltemples
Summary: Tammy ended up travelling to Philadelphia three days later on the back of a single sentence email sent from Agent Rosenfield’s boss to Monroe. It read “Just send Agent Preston to me - we’ll treat her to the best cheesesteak in town.”That was it. That was the entire email. God only knew if she was actually going to be working on a case.Tammy was about 78% certain she was going to die on this little field trip.Tamara Preston is less than a year into being an FBI agent when she gets called to Philadelphia.





	Your Typical Prototype

**Author's Note:**

> Tammy Preston is a shiny-haired angel who is hyper-competent and deserves the world. She's had about 6 lines and I would legit fight a small army for her.
> 
> This is a possible tale of how she joined Team Blue Rose, or the Compassionate Weirdo Squad, or Team Weird Shit, or whatever you want to call them.
> 
> Title from Just A Girl - No Doubt.

 

It started like this:

Tammy had been an agent for about eight months, and when you’ve been an agent for eight months, you’ve really been an agent for zero months.

It’s not like the movies where you get sent out on cases straight away, fresh out the academy with perfect scores, paired up with a curmudgeonly old-timer who is fed up with playing by the rules. Certainly not for Tammy. Instead, it was the work of a glorified desk jockey. Lots of ramen consumed at ungodly hours, meetings, and staring into your computer screen, trying to figure out if the extra flick in the ‘Y’ of the victim’s signature is a sign of forgery, or them just being in a bit of a rush that day.

So she was sat next to Joe, of all people, in a nine a.m., presenting her findings to Senior Special Agent Monroe who was little more than an over-sixty, underachieving, paternalistic haircut in a suit. Tammy knew, she _knew_ , that he was going to listen to Joe’s asinine theory about the wife above her. And that was how it started. She objected repeatedly when Joe insinuated that Carolyn Baker living the cliché of sleeping with the pool boy meant that she murdered her husband Sammy, mainly on the count of there being literally no evidence to back it up, but Monroe waved his hand at her, making it perfectly clear that Tammy and her glossy purple hair were not welcome at the big boy’s table. As if it were her fault she knew how to use conditioner.

But Tammy had never shut up when she was told. Not once in her life. Not when she told her fifth grade teacher that Ray Johnson had stolen candy out of the Friday Box and her teacher had tried to laugh it off. Not when her Sophomore year sociology professor told her to stop calling renowned academics “full of shit”, and certainly not now, with lives on the line.

“Agent Monroe, seriously, it wasn’t the wife.” She said, finally, exasperated with waiting. He sharply turned his head towards her.

“Then who?” He said. She felt like he had rolled his eyes at her. She didn’t see it happen, but she felt it in her soul.

“It was George Weyland - Sammy’s college roommate.” Tammy stood up and passed Monroe a slim brown file containing bank statements and requisitioned changes in hedge fund beneficiaries. “He wanted the Panama fund, and Sammy was holding out until after the midterm elections, so Weyland poisoned his coq au vin.”

It was best, she had found in her whole eight months of experience, to get it all out in one breath. Less chance of interruption that way. The room was silent. Monroe looked at the file in his hand, Joe stared into space, moron that he was. Eventually Monroe looked to Joe.

“Anything to add to this, Spencer?” Joe shook his head. Monroe nodded and slid the file down the table to Joe. “Bring Weyland in. Good work, Preston.” He said and promptly left the room. Joe paused briefly before getting up and, with a last look at Tammy, one that could only possibly be read as a ‘fuck you’, left as well. She sighed. She’d done her best and stopped Monroe from making a terrible mistake, it’d have to do. She tugged her skirt back into position before grabbing her suit jacket from the back of her chair when she felt a presence in the doorway.

A man, an agent, probably. Mid-sixties, mostly bald, his hands were shoved in his pockets like he was a much younger man, but his eyes looked worn. Caught somewhere between his prickly attitude and everything he’d seen, was Tammy’s immediate diagnosis.

“That was some good research there.” He said.

“You weren’t in the meeting.” Tammy replied. The man shrugged.

“I was watching. The surveillance state has its perks.” He said dryly. She arched an eyebrow. “The way you got through the subsidiaries to find Orpheus Fund, not bad work, I gotta admit it.”

Tammy buttoned the single button on her jacket and smoothed down her skirt.

“I’m sure you mean well, sir, but I’m not interested in flattery, and I have an interrogation to prep for.” She said, giving him a cold, professional smile. The man rolled his eyes.

“Relax, Preston. I just wanted to ask you a question.” He said. Tammy stood taller. He knew her last name, so he wasn’t lying about watching the meeting. “Weyland. Why did you suspect him?”

She paused and thought for a second. It was hard, sometimes, to put this stuff into words. Tammy had always relied on facts, on research. She worked hard and diligently, to the point where she was sure that any real social life of hers had gone out the window half a decade ago to very few regrets.

“We talked to him two days into the investigation. We went to his office, me and Agent Spencer, and we talked to him for about twenty minutes. I tried talking to Agent Spencer about it afterwards, but he didn’t see the big deal.” She said softly. The man furrowed his brow at her. “Weyland had a pretty big office, and had been there for most of the previous decade, but he didn’t have a single personal item in there. It was a hot Monday in August and everything about him just...left me feeling _cold_.”

The room was silent as she looked right into the man’s eyes after that. Eventually, the man nodded and took a step further into the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

“Agent Preston,” He began. “I’m Agent Albert Rosenfield. Ever been to Philly?”

 

* * *

 

Tammy ended up travelling to Philadelphia three days later on the back of a single sentence email sent from Agent Rosenfield’s boss to Monroe. It read “Just send Agent Preston to me - we’ll treat her to the best cheesesteak in town.”

That was it. That was the entire email. God only knew if she was actually going to be working on a case.

Tammy was about 78% certain she was going to die on this little field trip.

Nevertheless, being a professional meant being in the office of Regional Bureau Chief Cole’s office at 8:46 in the morning, as instructed by the text she’d received from Rosenfield the night before. So she was there, staring at the mushroom cloud above his desk, waiting for him to get back from the kitchen.

“Hold tight there, Tammy!” He’d boomed almost immediately after she sat down. “I’m gonna go get you a nice cup of joe!”

She had nodded blankly in shock more than anything else. People at the bureau were often eccentric, but Cole seemed to communicate by alternating between booming good-naturedly at every passerby, and hand signals that he’d probably learned as a Boy Scout or something. There was a line somewhere, there _had_ to be.

Cole returned and placed a mug of black coffee in front of her. He grinned at her, looking absurdly pleased that he’d known how to make a cup of coffee. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she preferred hers with cream.

He snapped his fingers at her as he sat down, somehow managing to not spill a drop of his own coffee in the process.

“So, Albert tells me you’ve got a pretty good eye for shifty characters!” He said.

Tammy winced bashfully.

“Well, I don’t know about that, Sir. I think it was more of a lucky guess, than anything.” Cole frowned.

“What was that, Tammy? You’re gonna have to speak up.” He said, turning the dial on his lapel.

“I said, it was a lucky guess.” She repeated, significantly louder. Cole nodded sagely.

“Yes, those hedge fund guys - real pests. You’re absolutely right on the money there, Agent Preston.”

She let it drop. _Pick your battles_ , she told herself. Cole took a second to look firstly out the window, then at his portrait of Kafka next to the door. Just for a bit. As though he was consulting the various components of his office before continuing the conversation. She sipped her still too hot coffee, trying not to wince too obviously at its bitterness. Silences were not something Tammy had ever coped particularly well with, but Cole seemed perfectly at ease, enjoying his morning and not really focussing on her in any meaningful way. Finally, she caught his eye as he reached for his coffee and he smiled pleasantly at her, like she was an old friend that he’d bumped into on a Sunday afternoon walk.

“I didn’t bring you down here to talk about what you’ve done in the past, Tammy.” He said, somewhat seriously. Tammy tapped her fingers on her mug and bit back a prim _'It’s Agent Preston'_. He outranked her by far, and probably had at least thirty years on her, if she had to guess. She’d noticed, when Rosenfield had brought her to Cole’s office that morning, that Cole had used his first name as a greeting for him, too. Paternalistic, sure, but weirdly sincere. Tammy had dealt with worse.

“May I ask why you did then, Sir?” She asked.

“Yes, you may.” He boomed. He passed her a sheet of paper. A mugshot, really. A man in his early thirties stared back at her, looking for lack of a better term, scared shitless.

“This man’s name is Earl Jenkins. He’s a paralegal downtown. We’ve brought him in because he’s confessed to the kidnapping, rape and murder of a young woman named Mandy Sitwell - nineteen years old, just started at Penn State. We found her in Fort Washington State Park just last week.” Cole said in a voice that’d be quiet for anyone, never mind in comparison to his normal volume. Tammy frowned and looked back to the mugshot, then back to Cole.

“I don’t understand, Sir. If he’s confessed, then why call me in?” She asked. Cole looked at her directly in the eyes and smiled sadly.

“Because, Agent Preston, I don’t think it’s the whole story, and I want you to tell me what you feel when you look at him.”

 

* * *

 

Cole strode through the building, with Tammy lengthening her step to keep roughly apace with him as they made their way to the interrogation room.

“Jenkins is with Albert, at the moment, but both could probably use a break.” He said, as he took her to the observation room, where she could see Agent Rosenfield glaring down at Earl Jenkins. Neither was speaking, or moving, and Jenkins still looked like a deer in headlights. It was unsettling. Cole used the intercom, and Albert duly joined them on the other side.

“Agent Preston.” He said to her, by way of greeting. She nodded in reply.

“It looks like Tammy might have the stuff, Albert.” Cole boomed. “You always did have an eye for talent.” He nodded and gave Rosenfield a thumbs up. Rosenfield raised his eyebrows almost impossibly high.

“Any reason you interrupted my marathon session with Jenkins, Gordon, or did you just want me to meet and greet the new kid like it’s the first day of second grade?” He said. Cole grinned at him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m going to take over from here, Albert! You stay here with Tammy, I wanna hear what she has to say about this case.” He said before exciting the observation room and crossing into the room where Jenkins sat, waiting.

Rosenfield sighed wearily and looked at Tammy.

“You may as well settle in, he’s gonna be a while in there.” He murmured and gestured to a couple of chairs. Tammy sat primly next to the older agent, watching Cole and Jenkins through the one-way mirror. All Cole was doing was looking into Jenkins’ eyes. That’s it. Neither of them seemed to blink all that much, or acknowledge the other’s presence.

“What’s going on?” Tammy whispered to Rosenfield, a couple of minutes into this ‘interrogation’.

“This is just the way he works. You’ll get used to it.” He said, waving his hand at her before refocusing on the interaction in the other room.

Tammy looked further at the two men sitting opposite each other. Cole didn’t seem particularly angry, or impatient. Just like before, in his office, he was quite content to just let the interaction exist as it was, having all the confidence in the world that he’d come out of it with what he needed to know. Earl Jenkins, on the other hand, had started wincing under the intensity of Cole’s stare, his right leg shook gently under the table. Tammy recognised the habit from her own brother, and that thought made her realise how utterly terrified Jenkins looked. And it hit her - Jenkins had _no idea_ what was happening.

But that made no sense. He’d already confessed to the crime, and judging by the file in front of her, he’d confessed in inglorious detail. A witness saw him the night of the murder in front of a red traffic light, in his battered sedan, screaming at his steering wheel. His fingerprints were all over the body. Every drop of evidence pointed to it being a brutal, premeditated and calculated crime. Yet Tammy couldn’t shake the thought that Earl Jenkins didn’t know what was happening to him.

“How -” She began, before cutting herself off. How to even phrase that question? Rosenfield snorted beside her.

“Yeah. I think you’ve got it.” He said dryly. She turned towards him sharply. It was time to stop screwing around.

“What’s going on here?” She asked.

Rosenfield shrugged.

“Gordon’s still got some things he wants to clear up with Jenkins before passing this one onto the state prosecutor.”

“But he’s not asking anything.” She objected. He shrugged again, not moving his eyes from what was happening in the other room. Tammy sighed in frustration and returned to look at Cole and Jenkins.

They were still just sitting there, though Jenkins’ shaking leg had become more pronounced, and his lower lip had begun to wobble. The two men continued to look deep into each other’s eyes for what felt like days until, finally, Jenkins let out a sob.

And then another sob.

And then his face was buried in his arms, his whole body wracked with howls of anguish of the kind that Tammy had never heard before.

“All I did was drink the water he gave me.” He cried. Cole’s brow furrowed and he placed a hand on Jenkins’ arm. Tammy’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to piece together the scene that was taking place before her.

“I was eleven, and he gave me water on a hot day in June, and told me he’d need my help one day.” Jenkins cried. “I just wanted the water.”

Rosenfield sighed next to her, his eyes soft and full of pity. Cole wore a similar expression in the other room, sitting quietly with Jenkins, not moving until it seemed like he’d worn himself out. Eventually, Cole nodded to the security camera in the corner, and another agent came and took Jenkins back to his cell. Cole sat still, alone now, in the interrogation room, before turning to face the one-way mirror.

  
“Another one, Albert.” He said.

“They’re getting more frequent.” Albert replied into the intercom. Cole nodded gravely before getting up and returning to the observation room. Tammy still felt like her jaw was on the floor when Cole smiled tightly at her.

“What just happened?” She asked him softly.

“What do you think?” He replied. Tammy was quiet for a moment.

“Jenkins is claiming to be some kind of patsy. He pointed to a bigger picture - a past abuser who’d given him his warped view of the world.” She said calmly. Rosenfield nodded.

“Not a bad stab in the dark, Preston.” He said.

“Well it’s not like anyone else here is very forthcoming with information.” She snapped angrily. If she was about to be drawn into some weird clubhouse, then by God, she’d go in with her eyes wide open or not at all.

Cole grinned pleasantly at her.

“You need to commit to working with us before we can fully bring you into this particular fold, Tammy. I can’t have anyone who is half-hearted about this.”

 _Half-hearted_. Just in this morning, Tammy had got the message loud and clear that neither of these two agents ever did anything half-heartedly. _Ever._

She thought briefly of Monroe and Joe back in New York, and her brother Andy still living on her parent’s farm in Maine. Her brother was compassionate, and loving, and he wanted nothing more than to care for their Mom and Dad. She couldn’t be here, in Philadelphia, without his gentle encouragement, and kind-hearted smile. And then she thought of Mandy Sitwell, and Earl Jenkins, and all the other people caught up in whatever the hell this was.

“I’m in. I want to help.” She said, firmly.


End file.
